


Not In Love With The Modern World

by DamionAerynStarr



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Holocaust, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Third Person, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamionAerynStarr/pseuds/DamionAerynStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was a torch driving savages back to the trees. (Missing scene from episode 09 "Why We Fight".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not In Love With The Modern World

The gravel crunches beneath your boots like broken glass. Your breath curls up from your lips to evaporate before your tired eyes. The cold settles into your joints like in Bastogne, making more jarring movements painful. Your fingers twitch, long for a cigarette or your flask. Instead, you curl your hands into fists at your sides, like if you clench them hard enough the urge will go away.

Your gaze roves over the occupants of the barren huts, from one sunken face to another. You don't dare hold their eyes for too long. They're looking at you with awe and hope and sorrow and it's too much. You come from a land of freedom, a life of privelege and petty issues, and it's more than unfair what these good people had to endure. Guilt hangs heavy on your shoulders for everything you are and everything you've done.

An elderly prisoner, more skeleton than man, suddenly stumbles into your chest. You relexively grab his arms to keep him from collapsing to the dirt. He clings to your shirt and looks up at you with urgency, speaking rapidly in German. You numbly shake your head, trying to tell him that you don't understand, but the words turn to air on your lips. Finally, two soldiers come up and gently extricate the man, leading him away while one of the men murmurs to him in a stilted version of his native tongue. Your hands hover where you'd held the man moments ago, shaking visibly. You quickly close your hands into fists once more and shove them deep into your empty pockets. As you begin to walk again, you hope that no one saw your hands shake.

You pray no one sees that you're falling apart.

You don't know why you look up after staring determinedly at the dirt, but you do. Before you is a pile of bodies, just skin and bones under threadbare clothing. Among the empty faces that are staring up at the gray sky, a pair of wide brown eyes stare at you. You are frozen, trembling, beneath that dead gaze.

She looks like your daughter.

It always pissed your wife off, how much the child turned out like you. In her own vanity, she wanted a mini copy of herself to parade around in front of her high society friends. Instead your girl has your dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. She also has your sarcastic sense of humor, intelligence, and independent streak. You couldn't be prouder.

But you're standing in the middle of a work camp in Germany surrounded by death, staring at a dead reflection of your own daughter, painfully sober. You want to put your handgun to your temple and pull the trigger.

Those wide eyes blink slowly. 

You are on your knees beside her, hands hovering over her thin form. When she blinks again, slower, you gently brush the backs of your fingers down the side of her face without thinking.

"It's okay." You murmur, though she probably doesn't understand you. You begin carefully peeling her arms away from the body she's wrapped around. She whimpers, and your heart stops. In your time you've picked up a few German words. She just said one of them.

"Daddy."

You swallow and gather her up in your arms, holding her close for warmth. She's lighter than all of your gear, and shakes against your chest. You clamber to your feet and turn back the way you came, where most of the medics are. Others stare at you as you pass, some asking questions, but you can't stop. Not with the cold bundle in your arms whimpering in pain. 

"Medic!" You yell hoarsely, kneeling in the dirt by the trucks at the entrance to the camp. Someone appears at your side and fingers press into the side of her neck. You hear voices, but only focus on the girl in your lap. Her almost-black eyes are closing slowly. "No, you gotta stay awake." You speak softly. "Stay with me, honey."

"Captain," The medic's voice cuts through to you, and his expression makes your heart sink. "She's not gonna make it."

There's a moment before you find your voice. "What?" 

He shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry."

Blood roars in your ears. You're terribly numb. Your heart shatters inside your chest, leaving you hollow. "No," You finally breathe, your own small voice distant. You pull the girl into the safe cage of your arms, curling around the frail form. "No. No." You're drowning in death and regret and alcohol and poor choices. You can't breathe.

"Lew." A soft voice breaks through the white noise. A warm hand touches yours. "Lew, look at me." You do. Dick's blue-green eyes are concerned. "You have to let her go, Lew. She's gone." He whispers, already pulling your arms away from her. You let him. 

As he takes the small girl, you look down. Her eyes stare back, unseeing. Her thin lips have gone pale, and her narrow chest is still. She died in your arms. You want to vomit and cry all at the same time.

"C'mon, Lew." Dick takes your hands, pulling you to your feet. When you stumble he holds you up with an arm around your shoulders. "Let's get out of here." He murmurs, words hot in your ear. You lean on him as he helps you to a waiting jeep, not trusting your own legs to support your weight alone. You swallow hard around the bile churning in the back of your throat. "You're okay, Lew. It's okay." Dick murmurs reassuringly, speaking quietly so the others can't hear. A part of you is mortified at losing it in front of the men, but it's taking most of your self-control to keep from collapsing into a sobbing mess. You're grateful when Dick finally helps you into the passenger seat before jumping behind the wheel of the vehicle. You stare down at your hands in your lap, ignoring the forest whipping by. The trees remind you of Bastogne, and Bastogne reminds you of home.

When your hands curl into fists, your rough nails digging into your palms, Dick touches your wrist with one hand. Your grip relaxes, and he neatly entwines your fingers. He squeezes your hand, and you squeeze back.

When he guides you out of the stopped vehicle back in the village you realize you're at his quarters, not your own. You glance at him, but he just smiles, making warmth blossom in your chest. It hurts amongst the cold still engulfing you.

He leads you up to his small room in the attic, tucked beneath the angled eaves of the house. You numbly sit on the edge of his bed, staring into the air. There's a moment of heavy silence before he kneels at your feet, resting his palms against the curve of your knees.

"Lew." He breathes. You blink, focusing on him. In this private place, his feelings are laid bare for you alone. 

"She looked like my daughter." You whisper, answering his silent question. "Exactly like her." Shock passes over his eyes. His fingers move, stroking your thighs soothingly.

"I'm so sorry, Lewis." 

You laugh suddenly, you don't know why, but it's painful and strangled. You close your eyes against the tears. One of his hands disappears from your leg, lightly caressing your face. You lean into the touch, and he cups your jaw. 

"It wasn't her, Lew."

"I know." Your voice is weak, eyelashes damp. "But that little girl..."

"She's in a better place now. She's not in pain." His thumb moves over your cheekbone. "She's free, Nix. They all are."

You open your eyes, looking down at him incredulously. Anger springs up unexpectedly, and it scares you. "Free? Do you really think they're free, Dick? Maybe they're not locked in that place anymore, but will they ever forget it? Will they be able to fall asleep without seeing their families dying around them? Or forget what it's like to have your own stomach eat itself because you're starving to death?" He remains calm in the face of your tirade. "They've seen just what human beings are capable of, how depraved they can get and just how much they can take before they die. They'll never forget that! They'll never have another peaceful day in their lives, so how the hell are they free?!" Your vision blurs.

"Because they'll never have to experience that again." He takes your face in both hands. "Yes, they will remember this place and what they endured for the rest of their lives, but they'll also remember the faces of us, of the men who came from half a world away to save them." His expression is painfully earnest and desperate. "This is why we fight, Lewis Nixon. This is why we're here. To protect those that can't protect themselves and save them from something they can't stop."

Your eyes close, tears roll down your face. "But we can't save everyone." You whisper.

You hear him move, your face still cradled in his warm, strong hands. He kisses your eyes, your forehead, and it feels like benediction. 

"Everything will be okay, Lew." You can't help but believe him. He kisses your lips. "I'm here." His promise is warm against your mouth.

You finally touch him, twisting your hands in the collar of his shirt and pulling until his forehead presses to yours. "Don't leave me." You sob. You're safe here, with him. Just him. 

He kisses you again, softly. "Never."


End file.
